Revenant
by Pigloo
Summary: He finds you in the forest. / One-sided Walter/Henry


He finds you in the forest.

Standing under one of the path's lamps, the ring of light shines upon his blonde hair like a halo. He smiles pleasantly once he sees you, near angelic.

The association makes you feel sick.

You had left Eileen back at the burned orphanage for safety, very much thankful for doing so now.

You don't really want to know what the red texts written around the forest say, anyway.

He watches you curiously, in no hurry. He seems to notice immediately that Eileen isn't with you, and smiles wider.

You need to get past him somehow, not trusting to just stroll on by. You stand there, still and uncertain, until the sound of his quiet voice catches you off guard.

"I hope you realize the significance of the role you're playing here."

You freeze, confused.

_What role?_

He turns to you fully, eyes on you but his gaze faraway. He takes a step forward.

"Doesn't it feel good to be apart of something big for once? You're so important, Henry. To Mother. To me." He places a hand to his chest, the pistol he's clutching a shining threat under the lamp's glow. "You're the final sign needed to bring about salvation, to rid the world of its sins."

You take a step back, appalled. The meaning of his words sinks in, your confusion twisting into sickening dread.

Now your mind is screaming, throat itching to shout _you're the greatest sin of them all._

And there's something about the way he smiles that unnerves you more than anything else you've seen whilst being trapped in these worlds. It's as if you can see everything he's planning on doing to you, his quiet anticipation; revealing the confidence that he'll get what he's been working towards for so long.

He laughs and it isn't the loud mocking sound you anticipated. Instead it's low, internal. Knowing.

If this is what it feels like, then you don't want to be important anymore. You never have been, before. You were always just a ghost in your own life.

Maybe Cynthia was right about this all being a dream.

Walter reaches out, the side of his hand only brushing strands of your hair as you jerk and step back; a mere wisp of contact that nonetheless leaves you shaken. You haven't even noticed how close he had gotten.

He is unfazed.

As if reading your mind, he says, "But don't you see? You're just as dead as I am." He tilts his head, regarding you in silent interest. "In fact, I may even be more alive than you."

He smiles gently, disturbingly serene with the blood on his face.

But you've become accustomed to the blood on yours, too.

—

This isn't a place you'd consider hallowed ground.

Standing at the altar beneath the burned wreckage of the orphanage, you read the passage for the 21 Sacraments over and over and over again.

The Mother Reborn and The Receiver of Wisdom. Victims 20 and 21. Eileen and yourself.

The final sign.

It all makes sense now.

He's been using a mad fairy tale to bring back a divine mother that doesn't exist, his feverish obsession clouding his mind to the cold truth of being abandoned by his real mother.

An innocent child, his mind tainted by the poisoned words and punishments of the cult, twisting him into their paragon of ritualistic obedience. The harbinger of their idea of salvation.

It wasn't his fault he was brought up in such a life, but you can't forgive him for what he's done to you, Eileen, and all the others.

You must lay his soul to rest.

—

You find him behind the wall.

Victim 11.

The frozen expression on his face.

It's something that will stay with you.

—

You don't even know where you are anymore.

It's reminiscent of your apartment complex, only more perverse and twisted than the last time you came here. More contaminated by Walter's influence than before. You thought that finally opening the locks on your door would bring some form of solace, but it only brought more dread.

You feel the end is near.

You've lost track of Eileen, having last saw her standing stock still in the center of the lobby. Her behavior has become increasingly erratic and childish the longer you stay here, the more damage she sustains.

You hope she isn't beyond help now.

You have a feeling you may be.

So you continue on alone.

Down the squirming, fleshy halls of the ground floor.

Over metal grates.

Tasting the blood in the air; filtering the rust through your teeth.

It's all you can do.

—

The idea of Walter's existence makes your head hurt. You'd never believed in ghosts or lingering spirits before, opting instead for the simple pragmatic truth of evidence.

The other ghosts fit the typical description neatly. They you can accept, find any sliver of comfort from their predictability. You've found ways to take them down, to get past them.

But _him_.

He's unlike anything you could imagine; an abomination under the guise of a human being.

He makes your brain buzz like so many flies, your skin crawl like they're trying to escape.

You've slashed at him with your axe, shot holes into him, seen him bleed seen him bleed seen him _bleed_.

Felt his blood on your hands, felt it dissipate.

Watched him get back up and become whole again.

So you make him a (w)hole again.

—

_I'm always watching you_

_I'm always watching you_

_I'm always watching you_

_I'm always watching you_

—

He's smiling, closed mouth, eyes full of nothing but utter devotion and focusing entirely upon you.

You're so tired now.

He steps closer, hands empty, and you let him do so.

As if compelled, you watch as he presses himself flush against your chest, hands on your shoulders, sliding up to your throat, ice cold and with a solid weight that you still find jarring.

You shudder, but can't bring yourself to stop him.

His presence is suffocating in a way that's different from the others; that he's so much more tangible to you despite being a ghost just the same.

Heavy _heavy_ he's closer than you think could be possible, the cold seeming to settle between your ribs and leaving them aching. You're frozen as he brushes his cheek against your temple, turning and dragging his lips across your forehead, rough skin scratching. He gently kisses you there and languidly looks down at you, easy smile all teeth now.

It chills you even more and your breath catches in your throat and it's so cold and he's so close how can he be so close—

Sweating like you're running a fever, you realize your head has tipped all the way back in order to look him in the eye as he seems to be towering over you. He is unblinking, and you have to tear your gaze away from the intensity of his to look down—

—and he is only partially solid, his torso merging into your own and for the first time you think _ghostly_ is an apt word to describe him: he is almost transparent, standing with and up into you, sharing the same space.

You can feel him in you, your body weighted like it's twice its mass and yet you've never felt lighter.

His fingers are now sinking into your neck, cold tendrils tightening around your esophagus and jaw—

You let out a choking gasp and violently tear yourself away from him, quite literally as he was still _sticking inside you_, like pulling away from touching frozen metal.

Your lungs are burning like you just ran in dead winter air, leaving you feeling utterly violated and vulnerable. What possessed you to let him do that?

He laughs, his body solidifying once more and he runs his hands up and down his chest in a fluid motion, stopping over his heart.

"Oh, my Receiver...I love to feel you here. In here. Did you like it too?"

Your throat is dry and raw, your body cold and with a slithering sensation over your bones that you can't shake. Your voice is sticking, and you can't make a sound other than a pathetic whine of distress.

"I could feel your heart beating within me. I've forgotten what that felt like. It was nice. Warm, pulsing. It reminded me of Mother. Almost makes me miss being alive."

He fades and disappears suddenly. You feel a presence behind you before you can even blink, his smooth voice a whisper by your ear, "almost."

Burning _burning_ you whip around with intention to strike him, shoot him, _anything_.

But he's already gone.

—

Everything is red.

The sound of grinding wet metal and Eileen's screams echo in your head as Walter stands over your supine body.

"All the signs have come together now."

A smile.

"I think I'll start with your eyes."


End file.
